The Clyde

The Clyde

Up-bubbling in the mountains

As stream of silver hue

Over bright pebbles rippling

As fresh as morning dew:

She thunders over boulders

In clouds of rainbow spray

Through dear, green meadows winding

Inviting on the way

All horses, birds and creatures

To come and bathe and drink;

With highland cows who, munching

Crop flowers at the brink;

While fishes dart, and gleaming

Like moonbeams gone astray

They dive and leap and glitter

And in the water play.


But the Irish sea approaches

To turn her waters grey;

Haunts of men come into sight

And night is merged with day

For in the air there hangs

A heavy pall of smoke

The scent of salt and sweat

And coasters carrying coke

But she flows on regardless;

Her glory has not gone

For in the starlit evening

When gloomy day is done

Her wide and silent waters

Flow through a coloured maze

Of winking lights that dazzle

A million tinted rays


Men line with dock her banksides

This is the dear-green place

That they have built around her

The haunt of lowland race

But she remains majestic

Indifferent as to praise

And she will last when over are

St Giles and Mungo’s days


(adapted from a poem by Lilian Peel)

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